


Patience my love, we will get there in the end

by thisisamadhouse



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, The Tudors meets GOT?, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26737228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisamadhouse/pseuds/thisisamadhouse
Summary: For JB Week 2020 Day 3: Wrath/PatienceThe King of Westeros left the Small Council Chamber in a huff, his advisers scrambling up, calling him back, and, not for the first time, Jaime Lannister, First of His Name, thought that he needed new ones.As had become the norm for the past few months, the meeting had concluded with one of the sycophants, Jaime couldn't even remember which one, laying out a new proposal of marriage for him, and Jaime invariably telling the offender to fuck off. Literally, because Jaime didn't bother with courtly niceties any more, and he hoped to have finally driven the point home. He couldn't have been more clear when he had taken the throne: there was only one woman he would ever consider marrying, but his council had deemed the union unwise.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 13
Kudos: 96
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Week 2020





	Patience my love, we will get there in the end

**Author's Note:**

> As is becoming an annoying habit of mine, while I am struggling with a WIP, a whole new plot bunny pops up and demands to be written. At least this one let itself be written in just a day, and gives me hope that I can actually finish something for once.  
> The premise for this one was a role reversal of Tudor era Elizabeth I and Robert Dudley, with Jaime swearing off marriage if he couldn't be with the one he wanted. Let me know what you think of it, I'm still very new at writing those two.

The King of Westeros left the Small Council Chamber in a huff, his advisers scrambling up, calling him back, and, not for the first time, Jaime Lannister, First of His Name, thought that he needed new ones.

As had become the norm for the past few months, the meeting had concluded with one of the sycophants, Jaime couldn't even remember which one, laying out a new proposal of marriage for him, and Jaime invariably telling the offender to fuck off. Literally, because Jaime didn't bother with courtly niceties any more, and he hoped to have finally driven the point home. He couldn't have been more clear when he had taken the throne: there was only one woman he would ever consider marrying, but his council had deemed the union unwise.

“Her House, though noble and ancient, is but a minor one, Your Grace,” they had said. “You need a stronger alliance for your reign to flourish.”

“And she has sworn so many vows, how can we be sure of her true allegiance?” They had added.

Jaime had almost flown into a rage at that. How dare they? As if they were any better, as if they hadn't bent the knee to all the Kings and Queens who had seized the Throne in recent years, uncaring of who they had been, as long as it had kept them alive. As if Jaime himself had been any better.

_Where would all of these pompous Lords and Ladies be without Brienne and her stubbornness? At the mercy of_ _my_ _sweet sister, that's where,_ Jaime thought as he stalked the halls of the Red Keep in search of his favourite knight.

There was no one more honourable in all of Westeros, and beyond, than Brienne of Tarth. She was the sole reason why his sorry ass even sat on the Throne at all, because she had believed in him, had believed that he could do some good after the utter disgrace of his father and sister's reigns. She had seen something in him and had pushed him to step up, and he couldn't tolerate to hear anyone speak ill of her. Though Brienne wouldn't have cared, 'words are winds' she always said, and only that thought had saved his counsellors' heads that day.

Jaime had calmed down, and had told them that if they didn't approve of his choice then there would be no Queen and no heir. They had thought that he was bluffing, that he wouldn't be able to resist for long, but it only proved how little they knew him. Jaime Lannister had never been the kind to bed a woman he didn't love, and he had only ever loved two in his life.

His unholy passion for the first had brought war and chaos, and his devotion to the second had given the kingdom five years of peace and prosperity against all odds.

From what he heard, bards all over the realm had started to call his reign “The Golden Era of Goldenhand the Just”, and yet there were very few tales of how he had acquired said golden hand, and for Jaime it was the greatest injustice of all.

People seemed to have forgotten that he had once been his father's best commander, more interested in leading battles than learning to rule, while his twin sister Cersei haunted Tywin's every step in fear to miss even a word he pronounced. Tywin had never believed that Jaime only wanted to renounce his title of heir to the Throne in favour of his sister, and had instead looked for an advantageous match for his only daughter, finding one in the boorish Robert Baratheon. No one had seen the events that had followed coming, not even the almighty Tywin Lannister, who, to hear it, had almost single handedly put an end to the madness of the Targaryen dynasty.

As Tywin had been weakening, his enemies had been gathering, and in a last bid to secure his family's power, the King had launched almost of all his forces through Westeros to chase down those who contested him. A resounding success,, bathing the realms in fire and blood, until Jaime had been captured by Northmen devoted to their warden, Ned Stark, arrested for treason for speaking against the corruption in Tywin's court, and whose two youngest daughters had been kept hostages under Cersei's care. Jaime had underestimated Ned's son, Robb, too young, he had thought, to be playing the game of thrones.

Of the party sent to exchange Jaime against the three Stark prisoners, only one had survived the journey: a young, awkward but strong, downright ugly girl from the Stormlands, ward to Catelyn Stark whose mother had known Brienne's. Jaime had been taunting her from the first moment their eyes had met. So blue, so innocent they had been, a contrast to her somewhat unflattering features. The only source of amusement during his long days of captivity and travels had been to challenge a reaction from the shy, but still all too composed girl.

Until she had been the only one of his keepers left standing against the Bloody Mummers, as they had tried to figure out who they would ransom the Royal Prince to. When it had seemed like they wouldn't bother to keep two captives when one was worth enough for them to live comfortably until the end of their despicable lives, and they had wanted to have some fun with Brienne before getting rid of her, Jaime hadn't hesitated to step in. Their leader hadn't much liked his tone, and had made him pay for it, but Brienne had lived, and Jaime had considered a hand a small price to pay for her continued survival. It was difficult to pinpoint the moment where he had realised he wanted her to stay alive more than he needed to get away and back to Cersei.

He could barely remember the days that followed his traumatic amputation, only Brienne's voice, urging him to fight, to live, to get revenge, and her gentle touch as she had cared for him. Meanwhile the Starks had almost been completely annihilated, and Cersei had had her husband assassinated, assuming the Crown as Queen Regent for her young son, Joffrey, whose real father was rumoured, and rightly so, to be Jaime, not that he had had anything to do with the boy beyond his conception.

Hoping to gain favour with the new Queen, Roose Bolton, their gaolers' employer, had them escorted to the capital with all the honours that should have been given to a member of the royal family all along. Jaime's welcome had been very different from his expectations. Confronted by the full scale of his sister and son's cruelty, he had found himself unable to stand by their side, having seen the suffering that the wars had brought to the people, and his family's unwillingness to bring an end to it, concerned as they had been with gaining more power.

Having been able to secure Brienne's safety, he had armed and armoured her as she had let him know she intended to find the young Stark girls who had disappeared after their father's execution, and reunite what remained of the family.

On the day she had been set to leave, Jaime had decided to join her, knowing that it would incur his sister's wrath, but finding himself uncaring. Together they had travelled through the realm, chasing any lead about the Stark daughters they could find. Unwittingly, they had gathered support on the way, fighting bandits preying on widows, and those too weak or too frightened to defend themselves, teaching peasants how to protect their homes, feeding beggars and orphans wandering helplessly into the streets. There had been nothing that Jaime had loved more than to see little girls trying to lift up Brienne's heavy sword while she had cheered them on, or her blushes when she had been rewarded by flower crowns and heartfelt hugs.

How could Cersei be deserving of the title of Queen of Love and Beauty after he had seen Brienne with a knee on the ground, her head bowed to grubby children as they crowned her with daisies they had painstakingly assembled just for her?

From the Vale, where they had found Sansa and Arya Stark, to Winterfell where they had fought the Royal forces to regain control of the girls' home, through the Riverlands, the Westerlands, the Stormlands, voices had risen against Cersei -whose ruthlessness had only increased after Joffrey had been murdered at his own wedding-, and in favour of Jaime.

Jaime had resisted the idea as long as he could, but when Cersei had put a price on Brienne and his heads, he had had no choice but to march on King's Landing to fight his sister head on. The initially rather small forces of faithful Northmen had increased in size along the way, joined by men and women from various extraction, even the bulk of the Lannister army had defected Cersei to join their former commander. Only had remained the troops of foreign mercenaries whom his sister had only been able to afford by emptying the royal coffers.

The siege, and then the Battle of King's Landing had brought heavy losses, Jaime's soldiers had been much less trained than their opponents, but his instincts, his knowledge of both the city and Cersei's mind, as well as the unconditional support of his commanders, Brienne chief among them, had afforded them the victory.

Jaime hadn't felt like he had won anything when he had entered the Throne Room, and had found his sister clutching the crown in one hand and the beautifully engraved dagger Jaime had gifted Joffrey on his fifth nameday in the other. She had thrown herself at him, spewing her venom, and he had been unable to defend himself. She hadn't had the chance to hurt him though, for Brienne had followed him in, and had run Cersei through as the no longer Queen had raised her hand to stab him. Looking from Cersei's dagger embedded in Brienne's shoulder, to Brienne's sword piercing Cersei's heart, Jaime had finally turned away from his sister's bleeding corpse to tend to the woman who had essentially become his right hand. As she had sobbed her apologies, begging for his forgiveness, he had shut her up with a bruising kiss, hoping that she would understand that he could never blame her for saving him once more.

Jaime's commanders and his brother Tyrion had found them, sitting on the ground, looking deep in each other's eyes, as he had been maintaining pressure on her wound, while Cersei had bled out behind them, the crown having rolled away from her slack hand. Tyrion had commissioned a painting of the moment which hanged in the Tower of the Hand.

A couple weeks later, after having replaced the ancient Throne by a much more simple hardback chair, a reminder never to feel comfortable both in the seat and the position it represented, Jaime had broken every tradition Westeros had ever had, by knighting Brienne and then having her, with her left arm still in a splint, crown him in front of all of those who mattered in the realm and those of his armies that Jaime had been able to fit in the room, while the rest cheered outside.

When all had bowed to him as the High Septon had finished announcing his new titles, Jaime had grabbed Brienne's arm to prevent her from doing the same, sending a clear message to everyone gathered. It hadn't been clear enough for his council however. Brienne had refused a position on it, claiming her age and gender would be an obstacle to him completing his reforms successfully, and Jaime had proven her wrong by giving seats to both Olenna Tyrell and his aunt, Genna Lannister.

It had been a pretext on her end though, people had already been in her ear, whispering that his attachment to her would make him a laughing stock, that she was a warrior, not fit to be a Queen. She had asked him to let her go back to Tarth, hard hit by Cersei's hired soldiers, and her ageing father. He had agreed reluctantly, promising her that he would wait for her, though realising that she didn't believe a word of it.

She had been in and out of his life for the past five years, and he had written her everyday they had been apart, the ravens between King's Landing and Tarth becoming the most performing ones in the country. She had written back just as frequently, but always avoided, both in letters and in person, talks of love and marriage.

He could stand it no more. His temper was thunderous as he barged into the stables where he could always find her when the training yard was empty. Squires, pages and lads alike quickly cleared off at the sight of his fierce scowl. Brienne and her bay mare both snorted at him though, and Jaime's frown deepened. He stalked to her, grabbing the brush from her hand and throwing it to the ground, ignoring her protests, and encircled her waist, marching them until her back hit the stall's wall. She may be bigger and stronger than him, but he knew her body too well by now. She wasn't protesting any more as his lips crashed to hers. He tightened his hold as she moaned deep in her throat.

“What brought this on?” She whispered breathlessly, her hand gently stroking his nape, as he released her and rested his forehead on the shoulder than still bore the scar from Joffrey's dagger.

“There are all fools, the whole lot of them, with their insistent prattle about things I don't give a damn about,” he growled, though with the way she was touching him, he only wanted to purr like a house cat instead of roaring like the lion he supposedly was.

“Important things though,” she said, all too knowing.

He straightened up, cradling her cheek in his left hand. “I would have you claim me on the Council table if it meant I would never have to hear about which barely flowered maiden I should marry this sennight again.”

She looked away, a faint blush rising from her chest. He licked his lips at the sight.

“Can you imagine their faces as you rode me into oblivion?” He asked, and her blush deepened.

She tried to push him away, murmuring a faint 'stop it', but he only pressed himself closer to her, enjoying her gasp as she felt the effect his little fantasy had had on him.

“I will never stop, Brienne,” he said fiercely, crowding her until those magnificent blue orbs were on him again. “I can't stop thinking about you sitting beside me with a sun and star crown in your hair and my cloak around your shoulders each time they mention my marriage. Aren't you tired of those scraps of time we grab whenever you are here? I have had enough of the secrecy and the pretence. What we have is not sordid. I should have never let you make yourself into some mistress I have to keep in the shadows.”

Patience, they had told him, Brienne and Tyrion, and those who were smart enough to see what was plainly there. You have a realm to rebuild, a family to redeem, be patient, things will happen in their own time, they had said, but they hadn't, and Jaime had no patience left. He had lost too much time already. They could have had a small army of children by now if Jaime hadn't listened to those supposed to be wiser than him. He mourned all those strapping boys and girls, with their blonde hair and their blue eyes, that he would never know. It wasn't too late though.

“Ride with me,” he said suddenly, loudly, startling her. “Let's find a septon outside of the City, have him marry us. They won't be able to oppose it if it's already done.”

Her eyes were so wide he was afraid they would pop out of their sockets, she was looking at him as if he had lost his mind, and he might have, though when it came to her it wasn't a new development.

“We can't, Jaime,” she started, ever the dutiful Brienne.

“I will abdicate if you say anything about the people not accepting you as their Queen,” he threatened, cutting her off. “I will throw it all away if I have to, to spend the rest of my life as your husband.”

She threw him a dark look. “Are you trying to blackmail me into accepting your proposal? Saying you will renounce everything we fought so hard for?”

“That's right, what we fought for, together. I wouldn't be there if it weren't for you, and it's time to remind everyone about it.” He smirked. “And I will do whatever I have to, to make you say 'yes'.”

“Jaime,” she sighed. “Just look at me...”

“I always do,” he interrupted, knowing at once where this was going. “And the court may protest at first, just as they would for any of the little trophies they try to throw my way, but once you give them a Prince to fawn over, they will all squabble to determine who was the first to think about this brilliant match. Those you protected and fought for will only say that it's about time I chose such an honourable Queen.”

She was faltering, he could see it, her bottom lip trapped so tightly between her teeth that blood was pearling at the surface, her eyes studying him intently, probably trying to assess how far he would go to prove that he would not let this go.

“Don't you love me?” He asked, swiping his thumb over her swollen lip, wiping off the blood.

“Of course, I do,” she protested, faintly, as he rose to his tiptoes to press his forehead against hers.

“Then say 'yes',” he insisted before stealing another kiss from her.

When they broke apart once more, she embraced him, nodding, tears slipping from her eyes and along their cheeks, and finally whispering “Yes.”

“Let it be known that Jaime Lannister, First of His Name, Protector of the Realm, and Ser Brienne of Tarth, Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, are one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” Jaime vowed, linking their left hands, raising them to press against their hearts.

Surely they would write songs about this.


End file.
